To my dear flight attendant:
I made a covenant of sorts with myself when I started writing this blog that no matter the time frame, no matter the insignificance, no matter the minutae of the moment, I would seize the opportunity to write about things which affected me; this is one of those moments.
I am on the plane, somewhere over the Atlantic, on my way to England to 1) share an adventure with my girls (refer to Promise Made To Children, 1993) and 2) to visit with my Irongirls, my friends Lizzie and Ali in Canterbury, my sweet sisters from Ironman Lake Taupo. The girls (the daughters, not the friends) and I were very strategic in our planning and chose a flight most likely to allow us to ride in Business Class; we were successful in our strategy! I am in seat 1B, and am peacefully digesting a delicious experience (cannot call it a lowly meal) of champagne, vodka-cranberry juice appetizers, steak, shrimp, salmon, cheesecake, port, and cheeses. Around the second vcj-with-lime, my flight attendant (did you know you actually have “your” flight attendant up in business class?! OMG) leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, “You have no idea how much I wish I were you right now!” This came at a time when I had my feet up in the La-Z-boy seat, I was reading my Kindle, sipping my drink, and was chatting with my seat mate.
I live a life of gratitude. For as long as I can remember, and particularly for all of my adult life, I have had profound moments of absolute and complete joy and bliss for simply drawing breath, having eyes that see and ears that hear and senses that feel and a tongue that tastes and a nose that smells. Tonight, on this airplane, at that moment, I experienced one of those astounding events.
I love my job. I love both halves of it: the challenge of the personal training and the intensity and energy and commitment that it requires, and also the joy of the massage therapy and the calm and healing it brings. But there are moments when, as I assume everyone does, even those of use who fiercely love our jobs, each of us would rather be in another place, doing another thing. Sometimes when my posse is meeting for beer or wine after work and I still have a 5k run to help a client through, complete with cheerleading and encouragement and advice and direction, or another 90 minutes of massage on a muscular, damaged, aching body, I host my own little pity party of waawaawaa.
So, dear flight attendant, thank you for your 13-word comment. Thank you for reminding me to let the moment take me. Thank you for serving me and doing such a great job at YOUR job. Thank you for being open, and honest, and genuine, and funny. I hope you’ll read this, and it will give you a moment of gratitude and reflection. Perhaps not; you have already served to help me appreciate a moment I would have thought I was already grateful for; thank you for showing me another angle of that gratitude, in a routine moment played out over and over and over again all around the world.
When you are relaxed and peaceful and having one of those spectacularly overwhelming moments of serenity and contentment, remember the girl in 1B, in whom you choose to confide, to whom you chose to be open….thank you.